Self Healing
by DarkHybridChild
Summary: [Shadow Dragon.] Marth's feeling the weight of their campaign to defeat Medeus. It takes a unique form of self healing to help the Lord get back on his feet. [Xane/Marth. This is what happens when a crackfic turns serious.]


**Self Healing  
**_Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon_  
Characters: Marth, Xane

Notes: Another fic that occurred from the free writing session done on Skype with my friends. And this was originally going be cracky, but turned serious quite fast. And yes, this is one of my major OTPs. Don't like it, wander else where, people.

**Prompt:** "Mirror" Given by my counterpart (and being the goddamned enabler that he is) KageStefan.

* * *

Marth quietly stepped into his room, shutting the door behind him. He walked farther into the room, twisting his neck to the side one way and gaining a loud, tense pop and he let out a loud, heavy sigh. He was worn and weary. Though it couldn't be helped, their campaign demanded much of not only him, but the others. He couldn't afford to show his own weariness infront of the others, they looked to him to lead them.

"Tired, princey?" Came a voice from behind him.

Startling, the Lord whirled around, hand placed on Falchion's hilt, ready to draw and strike if he must.

He blinked and stared in wonder for a moment, before he relaxed his grip and fell out of stance and let out another sigh. "Xane. You know better than to sneak up on me." He murmured softly.

From the shadow in the corner from where he'd entered the room, Xane almost seemed to materialize from it as if he'd merely been part of said shadows and before the male could finish crossing the distance, had morphed from shadows, to an exact copy of himself.

It wasn't as unnerving and strange as it used to be to the Lord, Xane's uncanny ability to copy anyone to an exact perfect replica. It went further than looks, he could mimic their exact skills, strength, and had no problem mirroring mannerisms and tone of speech.

His replica smiled at him, speaking again. "You looked a little strained out there today."

Marth quietly stared at the image of himself before him. There was literally nothing off about it at all, Xane's transformations were not like that of a mirror image, flawed and reversed, but a near perfect copy down to the smallest of details.

The image fascinated him. Simply because while he could see himself in a mirror, seeing himself this way, as if he were another person entirely, was something different. Perhaps narcissistic, maybe a little wrong. He wasn't interested in his own looks, he wasn't captivated by such vanity. No, it was something else. Something he couldn't quite pin down.

He slowly tore his eyes away and sighed once more. "I hope it wasn't too noticeable," He murmured in response.

"Perhaps not to everyone, but I'm sure the keen eyed and the ones who know you best would see it, princey." Xane replied.

It was one of the oddest things to the Lord, hearing his own voice speak the odd way the shapeshifter talked. He was used to hearing Xane's own voice speak them, but his own felt foreign. But he was not unused to it, he heard it often enough.

Xane had a way of coming to him when he was feeling fatigued or drained, and while the male was honestly much like a gypsy and came and went where he pleased, he usually only took delight in mimicking the forms of people he could tease or he took a liking to when not on the field.

So the first time Xane had made himself known in the Lord's room and through the evening of their discussion, if only it were a distraction for the Lord to keep his mind from the near overwhelming reality and weight of their situation, did Xane slowly morph and shift to take on this picture-perfect image of himself.

It had seemed the shapeshifter had not even noticed it at first, or if he was aware of what he was doing, did not let on. The male was like a chameleon in the sense of him taking forms consciously or unconsciously to his surroundings.

"It's becoming hard to stave off these feelings of despair, the people are so oppressed... I know I must right this, and soon, but..." Marth murmured, looking back towards the other.

An expression he was long familiar with giving, but not seeing crossed his image's expression. A sympathetic, understanding look, filled with a collected calm in their eyes. "I know, princey. It's hard on everyone, and is going to get even worse, the harder we push. And it's probably of no comfort in my reminding you that you carry the only Hope left," Xane replied, reaching forward to brush his fingers against the Lord's cheek.

"But you can't let this crush and ruin you. You mustn't think of the what if's and what could be's, live in the now."

The Lord brought his hand up to close over the others, gently pulling it away from his face, but letting his grip linger as he replied. "That is easier said than done... It feels as if I am neglecting and ignoring the problems of my people and the world if I simply push the thoughts away and entertain frivolous thoughts and impulsive actions."

Xane let a grim smile rise to their face, perfectly matching the way the Lord felt inwardly with their outward expression. "That _is_ the hard part of such things, yes. But it gets easier when you let someone else take the reigns for a bit."

Marth felt his eyes close of their own accord after a moment and willed his body to untense and completely relax, when his eyes opened again, he looked back at Xane, letting his entire weariness show. "I feel so stretched thin, as if I shall break and shatter, and feel an agonizing ache that I simply cannot describe that spans deeper than just physical. Xane, I can't-"

His replica stepped close, barely any space between, placing the tip of their pointer finger on his free hand on the Lord's lips. "Shh, don't." The other said softly.

Slowly pulling their hand that still lingered in the Lord's grasp away, placing it instead on the Lord's shoulder. "I can't claim to understand the depth of your despair, princey, but at least let me try to help."

The Lord stared back at the other, at their own face, the expression. It mirrored everything he was, he couldn't deny it. Xane didn't _just_ mimic people, he captured their very essence and soul, like an artist painting a portrait. Only Xane's canvas was his real flesh.

He saw everything he tried to exude. Calm, strength, the things people looked to him for. He saw the quiet, tempered patience and unwavering care and loyalty, he saw the longing that lingered within himself, the longing to heal, and be healed.

He didn't protest to letting the other male grasp his hand again and pull away, leading him from the spot they were standing at to the other side of the room. He allowed the other to push him to sit on his bed. He permitted them to unpin the brooch clasping his cloak, to push it from his shoulders and then unclasp the fastenings to his armor.

Xane knew him as well as he knew himself, if not better. He let his head tip back and let another sigh escape when they finished removing the breastplate. Soon enough, Xane was in front of him once more, staring down at him with his own face, his expression calm and collected but soft, the Lord's own delicate features reflecting at him, their eyes nothing but a reflection of everything that was inside of him, with a mixture of the shapeshifter's own beneath that.

Trembling, Marth reached for the other. The male not resisting and letting the Lord pull him down and in to him. Xane let a small smile rise to his expression, bringing his hand up to brush Marth's bangs out of his face before tracing slowly down the slope of his cheek before leaning in.

The Lord didn't resist, letting the other fuse their lips together in a soft kiss. Perhaps it was wrong, that the other kissed him while using his own image. However, Marth didn't see it as vain or narcissistic since he knew really who was behind that image.

It wasn't just Xane.

It was himself.

Xane projected and emulated him, using his own image to show him the very thing he was, for his own eyes to take in, for his own mind to process. Xane showed him who he truly was, how the others viewed him with this. He could see himself in a tangible, physical way.

If there was one thing the shapeshifter knew, inwardly, as he proceeded to distract and take the Lord's mind off of the current reality by forcing him to let go and step back from the situation, it was that the only way to move forward was by evaluating oneself. You can't save anyone if you couldn't save yourself.

Marth needed to be healed, healed before he could heal others, because his scars would only scar the people if he did not. Xane knew that the Lord could only heal himself. So the shapeshifter assimilated the Lord's very core essence to help him do just that, using the Lord's own image, his very nature.

As Marth wound down, mind fogged and body lax, he had the time to reflect, and think of things not of the situation, but of himself. He needed this. This, he was sure of. Xane gave him everything. Escape, care, comfort. He forced him in a way, to view himself as anyone else would see him.

And ultimately...

He understood. If anything, he was grateful to, and cared all the more for Xane when the pieces finally clicked into place. Xane was healing him. Or rather, he was healing himself. No, not even that was truly correct. _They_ were healing him, together.

His fingers slowly spidered across the expanse of a shoulder before finding purchase on their arm before pulling gently. Xane's figure moved with the action and he found himself facing the shapeshifter, no longer imitating his form, instead gazing at him with his true face.

"Thank you," He whispered softly to them.

The redhead blinked slowly, brow arching. "For what?"

"For everything. Being here; being you, and me." The Lord replied.

A slow grin came to the other's face. "Anytime, princey."

The Lord found himself able to smile back before he let his eyes slip shut and able to relax entirely and fall into a gentle, but deep slumber.

Xane stared at the Lord's face for a time, watching as their eyelids twitched subtly as they entered a R.E.M. cycle with a contemplative expression

"Sweet dreams, princey. You deserve them."

* * *

The next morning found "Marth" to be in better condition, leading the army to their next destination.

Marth awoke to a note on the pillow beside him, scrawled in his own unique script.

_"Princey,_

_Take all the time you need to recover and rest._

_Catch up when you have._

_Don't worry, I've things under control._

_-Xane."_

The Lord found his eyes widening. Momentarily panic filled him, but slowly, he talked himself down from it inwardly.

Truly the shapeshifter was looking out for him. Enough to even pose as him in a long-term standing. Biting his lip, he folded the note, got up and got dressed and put his gear on before heading out. As much as he wanted to rest, he could not. He knew what he had to do.

Xane's gesture was enough to give him the remaining strength to endure the rest of this campaign.

He would end this madness, defeat Medeus, restore Archanea and return home to Altea. Not for the others, for Nyna, even his people. He couldn't bear the weight of that. But he would, for Xane.

Because Xane gave him everything.

-_**End**_-

* * *

**End Notes:** AND SO I LIKE TO BELIEVE THAT XANE WOULD SOMETIMES ACT AS MARTH'S BODY DOUBLE AND TAKE HIS PLACE TO PROTECT HIM AT TIMES. -gross sobs in a corner- Ignore me people, I'm just a quivering mass of feels and derp over my OTPs.


End file.
